


we need paper wings to fly higher.

by alright_alright



Category: South Park
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Emotionally Repressed, High School, Hipsters, Humor, I Don't Even Know, Marijuana, Mutual Pining, Some Plot, Swearing, What Have I Done, an old man who only appears in the beginning, and drug refs, clyde's actually just an idiot and not mean, i guess it takes place in, just a bit, kind of funny, oh yeah, really only rated teen cause of swears, slightly awkward moments, there's nothing serious about this, where are the parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 10:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12529064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alright_alright/pseuds/alright_alright
Summary: Tweek is a bit of a hothead, slightly irrational and spends a lot of time pining over Craig's voice. Clyde thinks some Cream of Cannabis soup will help calm him down. Token is amused. Craig is suspicious.





	1. a good chair.

**Author's Note:**

> dunno what i did here, but it's done so? enjoy? it's a little different than my other stuff. someday, i'll write with these characters without them abusing substances just to talk about their feelings. but for now! let me know how you feel in the comments!! i love all my commenters and i so appreciate them. don't be afraid to really critique this too! <3

“No, I’m not doing it.”

“Come on, man, he’d never know! And he’d feel so much happier!”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Why don’t you want to help him? This stuff would totally calm him down!”

“Clyde, you,” Craig pinches his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. " _Christ,_ ” He huffs in annoyance and opens his eyes again, to look at the stupid expression on his best friend’s face. “I am _not_ doing this.”

“But he trusts you _so_ much! Don’t you want him to be happy, Craig? Or, are you just the queen bitch around here?” Clyde sulks sassily. “ _All hail her highne_ \----” Clyde shouts before Craig roughly grabs him by the arm and pulls him to the back of the store. "Ow!"

“You are such an imbecile,” Clyde stares petulantly until his brain clicks. He begins to laugh, loudly and obnoxiously, buckling over. Craig glares him down, with crossed arms. “Done?”

“Almost,” Clyde wheezes. He comes up for air, gasps and successfully pisses off Craig in his sloth-like actions. Craig rolls his eyes. “It’s just that I understandit  now! You _love_ comforting him. That’s why you don’t wanna give _this_ to him! You don't want to lose your job.” Clyde pulls out a bag of some shady looking substance and waves it around. Craig, red-faced and flustered, shoves Clyde’s hand down.

“Get that shit outta here!” He hisses. “I can’t lose _this_ job, you fuckwad.”

“Whoa, bro. Harsh words,” Clyde says solemnly as he shoves the bag into his pocket. “I’m only trying to help.” Craig flips Clyde off.

“Right here, pal.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Well, you’re a man-child. No morality and bad hygiene.” Clyde frowns, looks like he’s almost about to cry and Craig feels only slightly regretful about it. Slightly.

“Fine, Craig. I just wanted to offer you the choice it before I went through with it.”

“Don’t be a douche. Clyde. You can’t actually be considering this.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be rad. Read a journal, Craig, open your eyes. Pot helps people with anxiety! Tweek’ll thank me for it!”

“You open a fucking journal, Clyde. It worsens paranoia! Besides, there’s no way you can get him to smoke that shit.” Clyde starts to walk out the door. Craig follows, feeling helpless and frustrated. It’s not a good combination of emotions but unfortunately, it is a consistent symptom of Clyde’s friendship. “Clyde. Clyde.” Craig repeats in his annoying monotone.

“I have my ways, bro,” Clyde winks. “See ya tonight!” He shouts as he exits the hardware store. Craig is left alone, _again_ , with a seventy-eight year old man, Ed Bruschi, who always wants a ‘damn lawn chair’ and calls him ‘sonny’ in a condescending way. Craig has known him since he was five years old. Bruschi makes uncomfortable comments and often offers poor life advice. He’s a local oddity.

“You know, when I was young, they didn’t have this many chairs to choose from. You built your own, with these two hands,” Bruschi shakes his hands at Craig and Craig nods. “What do you even care? You haven’t built a damn thing in your life,” Bruschi throws Craig a sour look and tosses his hands to the side. “Some day, when you’re old like me, you’ll understand the importance of a good chair.”

“Okay.” Craig says. Bruschi looks at him sideways.

“You sure don’t say much.”

“Do I ever?”

“Boredom’ll shoot you dead, sonny-boy. Just when death herself comes knocking down your door. Don’t be a bore. That’s my one piece of advice to you, if anything can get through your thick skull,” Bruschi approaches Craig, knocks on his head once before Craig backs away. “Ain’t much there, is it? Just girls and backseat bingo, huh?”

“No,” Craig sighs. “Do you want a chair, Mr. Bruschi, or not?” Bruschi narrows his eyes, gapes his mouth slightly and inhales spit.

“I knew your pop pop. Odd fellow. Rude, too. Flipped me off every Sunday I saw him at church.”

“So you told me last week.” Craig rolls his eyes to bite back the urge of flipping him off. It’s the best he can do in these kind of situations.

“I don’t want any of your damn lawn chairs.” Bruschi says sourly.

“Okay.”

“They’re shit.”

“Okay.”

“You’re an annoying little ankle-biter, ain’t you?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t you have an opinion on anything?” Craig thinks it over briefly.

“Why, are you writing a book?”

“Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk back to your elders?” Craig flips him off.

“Fuck, Bruschi, you’re not a day over twenty five.” Bruschi smiles.

“Well played,” Bruschi picks out an ugly lawn chair and hands it to Craig. “I’ll take this piece of shit.”

“Good pick.” Craig starts to ring it up.

“What do you kids do these days for fun?”

“Séances,” Craig deadpans. “Want a bag?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“I respect that.”

“You’re an odd duck, Tucker, makes me nervous. Think of you hanging out with that Tweak kid, too. Who knows what the hell you two’ll end up getting into. ‘Specially if you put that idiot Donovan in the mix.” Craig shrugs, uncomfortably.

“I try to keep things legal.”

“As you should. Dimwit. Don’t be like your pop, there. He was a fool. Shame what happened.”

“Okay.”

“You’re an apathetic monster.”

“Okie dokie,” Craig checks his watch, sees the time is past close. “Can you find the door on your way out? I have things to keep legal.”


	2. not oatmeal.

“She’s g-gonna  _ knifed _ ! Oh,  _ ngh, God _ ! Wh-why would  _ she  _ just,  _ ngh _ , d-does she know how stupid she is?!” Tweek rocks in his seat, in a pattern that drives Clyde bananas. “They --- they’re gonna  _ die, _ m-maggots are go---”

“Tweek, bro. It’s a romantic comedy. I thought you liked this mushy stuff.” 

“B-but,” Some nights are easier than others. Some months, too. Tweek twitches, doesn’t register his worrying capacity and his imagination is very active, pretty dark lately. He’s been off/on meds and his chemicals are trying to balance each other out. It’s hard to do, what with all the screaming. “B-but, I c-can’t think about r-ra --- and,  _ ngh _ , oh god.” He sticks his head between his knees and covers his eyes. Clyde pauses the movie and smiles to himself. He pulls out a couple jars from his bag. 

“I was going to wait until Craig and Token got here but...”

“Dude, f-fuck! Wh-what if they don’t sh-show? Th-there’s a w-wind watch for the---” Clyde guffaws, loudly and Tweek glares at him. 

“They’re not going to blow away. They’re not a kites, Tweeks,” Clyde checks his phone. He waves around the jars. “Look at this, bro, I got you something here.” Tweek widens his eyes and tries to roll them, but he’s too high strung right now to come off sarcastic. 

“I --- is th-that y-your shitty weed!?” Tweek screeches. Clyde frowns, dejectedly lowers the jars. 

“It’s not shitty.” 

“Ngh, I d-don’t smoke!  _ Carcinogens,  _ man _!  _ You kn-know this! _ ”  _

“Well,” Clyde has a pretty stupid idea that seems smart in his head. “Craig thought you’d say that. He told me to tell you that if you don’t try it out, he doesn’t know if he can come by.” Tweek widens his eyes. Normally, he wouldn’t believe Clyde. He’d probably call him any insult he could grasp. Ex.: a shithead liar, a corruptive douchebag, motherfucking shill, a Trump, ect. But tonight, Tweek’s feeling uneasy and out of touch. Pretty much anything seems plausible, even the talking doll on the Twilight Zone. Ah, hell, who is he kidding? That doll _always_ seems real, fucking baby-face.

“Wh-what! He c-can’t  _ stand _ me?”

“No, Tweeks, I’m no----”

“--- _ he  _ think’s I’m f-fucking psychotic, d-doesn’t he?!”

“That’s no----”

“---well,  _ f-fine!”  _ Tweek grabs a jar from Clyde, before Clyde can backtrack. “I’ll d-do it! J-just to prove I’m  _ not fucking crazy! _ ” Tweek yells as he storms out of the room. Clyde stays sitting on the couch, a little surprised until Tweek storms back out, huffing. “ _ Argh _ , I d-don’t know h-how to get high! What the h-hell is this shit?! It’s not even l-leaves! I thought it was leaves!” 

“It’s coconut oil, with a little weed in it.” Tweek makes a terrible face. 

“ _What!_ ”

“I infused coconut oil with weed! So you can cook with it. It took me sixteen hours!” Clyde whines. Tweek looks at him like he’s the nutty one. “Would ya rather eat or smoke it? ‘Cause,” Clyde shakes his other jar. “I got both ways.”

“ _ I don’t fucking know, Clyde!  _ I’ve n-never gotten  _ high! _ ” Tweek shouts, fuming. 

“Okay, okay,” Clyde puts his hands up. “You eat. Yes? Good with that?” Tweek gives Clyde the most strange expression that could only be described as ‘are you wasting my time’. 

“D-don’t waste my time.” 

“Damn, Tweek, you’re the mother of all assholes.”

“It runs in the goddamn bloodstream, I guess! I c-can’t t-turn it off around idiots like you, you goddamn snowflake!”

“Wow, okay.” 

“I’m,  _ ngh _ , I’m sorry! I j-just want to g-get a high!”

“You already sound like you’ve done your share of meth for the day, dude.” 

“Fuck you!” 

“Jesus, Tweek! I was just messing around!”

“So, _wh-what_?" Tweek twitches and uncomfortably fondles the jar. "Do I just,  _ ngh, _ eat it straight?”

“No, bro, we gotta put it in something. Like, like cookies.” Tweek grits his teeth. 

“I don’t eat cookies.” He snarls.

“You don’t eat cookies? Since when!”

“Since they t-take eighty f-fucking hours to make!” 

“Dude, okay, calm,” Clyde shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“Oatmeal!” Clyde makes a face.

“You can’t put it in oatmeal. That’s just not protocol.” 

“Well, h-how the hell can I eat it?!” Tweek pleads, exasperatedly. 

“Soup?” Clyde says after thinking about it for a while.

“S-soup?” Tweek twitches his left eye. “ _ Ngh _ , okay.” 

“Okay.” 

They make a fair soup, pseudo-creamy potato and Clyde pours Tweek a bowl when it’s done. Tweek pokes at it nervously with his spoon. 

“Tweek, it’s not going to kill you. You saw me make it. I didn’t poison it and I even used your stupid almond milk.”

“I-it's cashew m-milk!” Tweek growls. 

“Whatever. Just, try the soup?” Tweek takes in some, hesitantly. He forgot how hungry and cold he was. The soup’s pretty mediocre tasting but really warm.

“Can you g-get me,” Tweek slurps and is almost done with his first bowl. “Some bread?”

“Sure,” Clyde goes to the breadbox, pulls out a loaf and cuts a slice, just in time to hear Tweek finish the bowl. “Wow, you really like my soup, huh? You should probably slow down though and just eat some of this.” Clyde hands off the bread to Tweek, who widens his eyes. 

“W-why should I slow down?”

“We don’t want you mega-high. Not yet, at least.”

“Th-this was my second bowl.”

“Oh.” Clyde says, surprised.

“Don’t ‘oh’ me!” Clyde laughs really hard, Tweek looks concerned. “What the fuck man?! Don’t l-laugh! I don’t feel high!” 

“It takes a while to set in!” 

“ _ Goddammit,  _ Clyde!” 

“This is damn precious!” Clyde grins. 


	3. friends who think they're in good places.

“---and the whole universe flowing fluid water. That’s me. I wanna see, um, lights! But just quiet, like fluffy fuzzy caterpillars. Hear them now, listen, they’re so loud,” Tweek chokes a little on his own laughter and pets the carpet. “Shit, this earth is a field, Clyde, this carpet is so soft,” Tweek looks up into Clyde’s face. “I can hear every color,” He reaches for Clyde’s face and laughs at it, almost maniacally. “Jesus! These _are_ my hands!” He becomes absorbed with his hands for a while and Clyde looks on amused. Clyde’s phone rings, a lame keyboard jingle but Tweek acts like it’s the most amazing thing ever. “Aw, _sweet mamba_.” He whispers.

“‘Ello?” Clyde answers.

“We’re almost there. Did you guys want anything?”

“Hold on,” Clyde laughs to himself while he puts Craig on speakerphone. “Hey Tweek?”

“I get it, I get why the hallways --- I get it, Clyde. I get it. So simple. There’s --- shit, are you hearing _that_? Dude, do we have a ghost?”

“Hey Tweek?” Clyde asks again.

“Mhmm?”

“Craig’s on the phone. Do you wanna say anything to him?”

“Um.”

"..."

"...uh."

“Is Tweek high?”

“Um, am I in a stripper’s basement? No. I ate soup.”

“Clyde, what did you do?”

“The humanity is so overrated!” Tweek shouts to himself. “There is no God, no one God. It's everything, it’s so clear. Clyde,” Tweek says wide-eyed and loudly. “We need, um, paper, we have to write this down. No more wars, no more bombs, people just need to know that there is not one god and they won’t fight it. I feel it. God is everywhere. God is not mad, just forgetful.”

“Clyde, what did you do?” Craig asks, very agitated and concerned. Clyde just keeps laughing. “Just --- focus on your breath, Tweek."

“Whoa, man, I’m exhaling hospital wards.” Tweek says confidently.

“Okay, buddy.” Craig says. “Jesus, Clyde. I’m going to kill you.” Craig mutters.

“Okay, buddy.” Tweek repeats.

“Okay.” Craig answers.

“Okie doke.” Tweek concludes.

“Goddammit, Clyde.”

 

* * *

 

“It has a beating heart. I’m hungry. I need soup, I need to feast.”

“No, no, no, bro. You can’t have any more.” Clyde laughs. He hands Tweek a bag of chips. “Eat these.” Tweek pokes at the bag a lot. He looks like he’s trying to do something but he can’t get it right. He starts to feel frustrated. He puts his mouth over the bag.

“Clyde,” He whimpers a little. “Clyde, they would like to come out now. They’re trapped. Clyde.”

“Tweek, don’t slobber over the chips. Jesus, you’re batty.”

“Clyde, help. They’re paralyzed. Don’t just stand there, they’re paralyzed. Humanity’s so heartless,” Keys jingle in the lock on the front door and Tweek listens wholeheartedly. Clyde opens the bag of chips for Tweek, before handing it back and going to the door. Tweek looks at him as if he’s pure gold in a gambler’s eyesight. “You freed them. You’re like Jesus. You saved the sinners, Clyde. You’re a hero,” He extends a hand towards Clyde. “Thank you.” He begins slowly placing the chips on the floor. “You’re free, little buddies. Go on. Go on.”

“Clyde, I’m going to fucking murder you.” Craig says as he storms in the door. Token follows in behind him. Clyde puts his arms up defensively. Tweek looks up, smiles lazily at all of them. Token walks towards Tweek.

“I love you guys. I love you guys so damn much. You don’t have to fight, it’s okay because,” Tweek laughs into his hands. “My hands.” Token laughs and walks up to him. Craig and Clyde stay behind, hiss whisper shouting and pointing fingers.

“What you got there, dude?” Token asks Tweek, who moves his hands around slowly. He gestures vaguely to the chips.

“It was a whole, whole _mass grave_ and Clyde saved them, dude.”

“That was pretty nice of Clyde.”

“Yeah, yeah, it _was_ heroic.” Tweek agrees, pretty confident in the nobility of his friend. Token pulls out his computer from his bag.

“Do you like music, Tweek?”

“Fuck yeah I do. You know that.”

“Well, then, here you go.” Token pulls up his iTunes visualizer and hits play. Something mellow and slightly eerie plays. Tweek’s eyes, dopey and easy, get absorbed by the lights. He crawls towards the computer and lies awkwardly on his stomach. He doesn't seem to notice how uncomfortable he looks and for some reason, that's the funniest part about the whole thing to Token.

“Whoa, whoa.” Tweek chokes out. “Awh, shit. Shit, that’s just...whoa. Holy shit.”

“Clyde, what the fuck did you do?” Craig half shouts.

“Nothing! He wanted to do it!” Craig gives him a look. “I swear!”

“You're a shitty liar, Clyde, and I know because you got that same look as you did when you told me you didn't puke in my Red Racer lunchbox when we were six!"

“Let that go already! Jesus Christ, Craig! All I did was provide the cannabis infused coconut oil. And the soup. And I might have,” Clyde starts off slowly and prepares himself for a blow. “Said you didn’t wanna see him if he couldn’t calm down.” Craig whacks Clyde’s neck. “Ow!”

“What the hell! Why the fuck would you say that, _Clyde_? You are such a prick!” Token joins them at this point, leaving Tweek and his little chip buddies to watch the computer.

“What did Clyde do now?” Token asks.

“Everything wrong, I suppose!” Clyde blubbers. Craig glares at him. Token offers no sympathy. “Go see Tweek for yourself! He’s _happy_ , just like I told you he would be.”

“Dammit, Clyde,” Craig mutters and walks towards Tweek. “Hey, Tweek.”

“Craig, Craig, your voice sounds like two radios never finding static. In a tractor, in an earth field. Sit with me. I love it. I love when you talk. Say something to me, man.” Craig looks down suspiciously at Tweek.

“How much of Clyde’s shitty weed did you eat?”

“It’s not shitty!” Clyde shouts, as he and Token enter the kitchen. Token shakes his head, mumbling about morons.

“You, man, you’re so amazing.” Tweek hums at Craig and hangs his hands around. “Are you hearing this? This is gold!”

“Tweek,” Craig lightens up a little and sits down on the floor. “Are you feeling okay? What is this, My Morning Jacket? I thought you hated these guys.”

“This is incredible, though, I think I was wrong. _I was wrong._ It’s so beautiful hearing everything! And now I’m calm and not crazy. So we can be friends, close friends and you can keep calling me buddy. ‘Cause we’re buddies, I can still be your buddy, right?”

“What? What are you talking about? Of course we’re friends.”

“I know I’m strung up high and,” Tweek laughs psychotically. He looks Craig in the eyes. “High! High, wow, I’m high. Craig, I’m high.”

“You really are, buddy.” Craig starts to smile. Tweek pokes at his face.

“There it is, there’s the happiness,” Craig smiles more, looks away, shaking his head. “Don’t hide it, why do you hide it? You always hide your happy, man!” Tweek pulls Craig’s face towards him and carefully pats his cheek. “It’s life, it’s beautiful. I love your teeth, they’re not crooked to me,” Tweek pulls Craig so he’s lying down. He flops somewhat awkwardly. “Sit with me and look, look, don’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Tweek takes Craig’s arm, really slowly and puts it over his chest, where he is positive that heart is supposed to be.

“It’s a whole ocean, in there, it’s _always_ an ocean. Feel it, dude, it’s crazier when you’re around. It’s all wound and,” Tweek laughs hysterically. “Bound. This is so weird.”

“Tweek, you fucking hippy.” Craig says, laughing, with his hand still feeling Tweek’s heart running.

“I want to dance, let’s dance, like Bowie and Jagger.” Tweek pulls Craig up, who does so a bit regretfully. “Come on, smooth talker, let’s tune the radio.”

“What does _that_ mean? I don’t dance.”

“Then make me food. I’m hungry. I want pineapples, do you have pineapples in your dreams, too?”

“Damn, Tweek,” Craig grins. “Alright, I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Yeah, I’m really hungry, Craig.”

“Well, good. You barely eat anything.”

“I want to eat though.”

“I know, buddy, but I gotta make it first.”

“Sometimes, I ask you pointless questions ‘cause I like your pretty voice telling me stories.” Tweek follows Craig into the kitchen.

“I don’t know, Tweek. Craig’s voice is too salty for me. It really grates my nerves.” Token says. Craig flips him off.

“Right here, big guy.” Craig says.

“I’m glad someone can tolerate it.” Clyde pipes in. Craig glares at him.

“I love your voice. I really do.” Tweek sincerely admits again. Craig doesn’t know what to say.

“Thanks, buddy?” Craig pulls at some pots and pans, looking for a dish.

“That sound, man! Awh, if only I knew what swooning was! Like, what it physically looked like. Maybe it’s my face, you tell me. Best friends!” Tweek turns towards Token and Clyde. “I’m swooning, right?” Both Token and Clyde laugh hysterically. Craig’s face is red, but he tries to hide it by looking for some food in the fridge. Tweek follows him with woozy eyes.  

“Yes, Tweek. You are swooning. Madly.” Token deadpans. Clyde starts filming Tweek again.

“Do you want a sandwich?” Tweek widens his eyes. He walks towards Craig and nods his head.

“Yes! Fuck yes, dude, yes. I want a sandwich, yeah.”

“What kind of---” Craig turns around with bread and comes face to face with Tweek. “Um, dude.” Craig backs away a little but Tweek keeps walking forward. Craig just gets fumbling and foolish looking. 

“I wanna plant seeds in, in your voice. See what grows? You’re so calming, I love it. I love it.” Token and Clyde are cracking up, Clyde still filming everything.

“Um,” Craig holds up the bread, ungracefully. “Rye or whole wheat?” Tweek gets distracted by the food.

“I want brioche,” Tweek grabs the rye. “Thanks, pretty boy,” He mumbles and bites into it. Craig raises his eyebrow. “I wanna do something, guys, let’s do something. Let’s play a game.”

“How about we make a bet?” Token offers. Tweek nods his head emphatically.

“Yeah, let’s do this. I’m ready. Guys! Russian roulette!”

“I’m not letting you play Russian Roulette.” Craig asserts.

“Tweek,” Clyde begins. “You feeling lucky?” Craig gives them a look.

“I'm feeling awesome.” Tweek snickers.

“Alright, well, I bet that you won’t call up the asshole,” Tweek gives him a really confused look. “You know, the douche that you’ve been bitching about for four years.” Tweek stumbles. He scrunches his nose.

“You fucker, that’s a lame bet. I wanted you to say, like, be a bat or something. Shit, Clyde, that’s lame. You’re so middle-school. Give me your fucking phone. I’ll show you how it’s all down and done.”

“Can’t you use Craig’s? I gotta film you.”

“Don’t fucking film me. I don’t need the NSA, CIA, CSI, oh god, don’t film me Clyde. Turn that off.” Tweek walks up to the camera and smacks it. “They’ll know,” he whispers. “You gotta turn that off,” Tweek pats around Craig. “Where’s your phone?”

“Just take it.” Craig shoves a phone into his hand, a bit tensely. Tweek concentrates very hard on dialing his numbers, before Craig rolls his eyes and unlocks the phone for him. Tweek looks at him like he's questioning everything. "You were dialing in the lock pad." 

“I need a one,” Tweek mumbles random numbers and hits call. “Damn, voicemail... Dude, voicemail. So much in my ear. My hair.”

“Leave a message.” Token says, grinning.

“Whoa, rumbling and dainty. Pretty.”  Tweek mumbles. The message beeps, Tweek breathes nonsense into it. “I’m ballsy. Craig, pick the phone up. Answer the goddamn phone so I can win my bet.”

“Did you just call me? From my phone? And ask for me?” Craig questions, taking the cell from Tweek. Tweek sputters to connect the dots.

“Shit, dude, I totally did!” He laughs.

“You’re really high.” Tweek jumps into the air.

“I really am!” 


	4. aliens in the attic.

The bad thing about getting high instead of getting drunk is that you remember all the stupid shit you did. Tweek made some choices he probably shouldn’t have, even though he _felt_ like he was winning the night for a while. He should’ve just opted for the bottle. Or. Better yet, nothing. He was so stressed yesterday, though and his parents _still_ aren’t back from their “roadtrip”. Tweek is positive that’s code for ‘let’s get shitfaced and wager our child at an underground casino’ but whatever.  

He was quite relaxed in the beginning of that night, up until he threw bread at Clyde and Token found him crying on the bathroom floor about aliens in his attic. Craig had to spend the night. 

Oh. Right. _That_ mess.

“Ugh,” Tweek groans, though physically, he doesn’t feel that bad. Except his ankle, what the _hell_ did he do to that? He pulls his ankle towards his face to inspect it. There’s a little blood, but it’s scabbed over and bruising. His tongue hurts somewhat too, though it’s fairly numb. “Shit.”

“Yeah, I tried to help you bandage that but you yelled about bloodsucking lizard people and asked me what the fuck I did with Craig.” Craig says. Tweek flops on his bed. 

“Oops.” Craig sits down next to him and hands him a mug. Tweek sniffs it. 

“It’s water.”

“Oh. Thanks, dude.”

“Yeah.” Craig says awkwardly. 

“Did I really,  _ ngh _ , stab myself with a fork?” Tweek subconsciously pats his ankle.  

“Yeah, that was real.”

“And I broke a couple lightbulbs, too, didn’t I?”

“Yep. To get rid of the  _ ‘cameras’ _ .” Tweek twitches to the left. He takes a sip of the water and makes a face. It feels weird in his mouth. Probably some effect of the drug.

“It was really soothing for a while. Everything sounded so amazing. It was all, amplified and easy.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“R-right,  _ Jesus _ ,” Tweek cringes, though the expression looks ridiculous on him. He tenses, nearly spills the water, when he jumps to say: “I,  _ ngh _ , I don’t actually want to plant anything in your voice. I’m not, not fucked up!”

“I know.” Craig shifts, though he still seems uncomfortable. 

“H-how long can you st-stay?”

“A while.” Craig looks at his phone to check the time. 

“You look miserable.” Tweek says sympathetically. 

“I’m not.” Tweek looks around his room, and sees the messy couch in the living room through his door. There’s one blanket and a ratty pillow on it. Tweek feels kind of shitty. He doesn’t see anyone else in the house.

“You can, um, t-tell me wh-whats,  _ ngh _ , y’know...wrong? I wouldn’t say anything to the other guys. I promise.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You know how many pills  _ I’m _ on! I just wanna help you.”

“Sometimes I wish I were on pills,” Craig says and Tweek hums reflectively. “My dad’s back in town.” Tweek eyes him concerned. It’s odd how tangible Craig’s problems are. Tweek finds it easier to sort out the real world before confronting all the shit that talks back to him in his head. Craig’s the opposite. It’s kind of funny. 

“Don’t fuck your head up. You’re the best person I know. D-don’t take those pills, man. They’ll mess you up real bad.” Tweek says. He eyes the living room and feels crappy again. “You didn’t have to sleep on the couch.”

“You were  _ very  _ paranoid.”

“B-but I’m a-always fucking paranoid.”

“Tweek,” Craig gives him a look. “This was bad.” 

“Are you,  _ ngh _ , mad?”

“Yeah, I’m a little pissed.”

" _Ngh_ , well, I’m  _ so _ s-sorry, Craig! I was just trying to b-be normal but i-it backfired and I’m still seeing eyes in the walls! Dammit, it’s j-just,” Tweek sighs in heavily. “I want to be m-more...approachable?” Tweek grits his teeth. Craig shakes his head. 

“Dude, I’m not mad at you. I’m hella pissed at Clyde but I’m not mad at you. I don’t  _ want _ you approachable,” Craig says honestly. “If you get approachable, then who’s gonna scare all the people away? I need you the way you are. You’re my wild card.”

“Oh,” Tweek says, a little dazed and relieved. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Just,” Craig begins slowly. “Next time you decide to get high---” Tweek scoffs. 

“That’s not happening again,” He wiggles his ankle. “Or if it does, you need to leave me in a padded room. Actually,” Tweek scrunches up his face. “The silence might be worse. Don’t leave me in a padded room.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” 

“I’m not getting,  _ ngh _ , high ever again,” Tweek resolves. He gets up and heads to the bathroom. The light switch isn’t working. Oh. There’s no bulb. “Whoa, I really fucked up the house.” Craig follows and stands in the doorway. 

“When are your parents coming home?”

“It’s, i-it’s,” Tweek grabs his toothpaste and his toothbrush. He puts a pea-sized amount on it carefully and sticks it in the side of his mouth. It hangs out like a thermometer. “Th-they’re in Reno, I bet.” He twitches. Craig rolls his eyes.

“Probably a few days, I take it?”

“If they remember where they parked Victor,” He spits out the toothpaste and it’s bloody. “Craig, look at this. I’m, there’s blood, dude.” Craig peers over his shoulder. Craig points to the mirror and catches Tweek's eyes in it.

“Say ah.” 

“Ahhhhawh, awh, shit. Shit.”

“You begged Token to do it.”

“I, I’m, shit, this is g-gonna get infected! I, I’m, I’m n-not a piercing t-type of person!” 

“That’s what Clyde said and then you threw bread at him.”

“Goddammit! Well, w-where were you when e-everything happened?” Tweek asks, exasperatedly. 

“I had to go home. My mom.” Craig says, face blocked off of any emotion. Tweek has come to learn this expression means that Craig has too many emotions at once. A wall is built and Craig does not wish to hop the fence. Craig picks up a sweater and hands it to Tweek. “It’s a pullover.” He states, very matter of fact. Tweek looks at the sweater and Craig, feeling both pity and annoyance. 

“Craig, I f-fucking know that! It’s my g-goddamn sweatshirt. Argh,” He grabs the sweater anyway. Craig starts walking out the front door, grabbing a bag. Tweek follows. “W-where are we going?”

“Not telling.”

“ _ Why _ ?!” Tweek shouts as they leave the house. Craig looks at him amusedly. 

“Because!” Craig grins. He waits patiently while Tweek locks the door twice. 

“Agh, you’re being too damn mysterious!” Tweek says as he finishes locking the door. 

“That’s the fun, spud!” 

“Eugh, y-y’know,” Tweek sputters. He flinches a little and mutters indolently: “You’re a real ass sometimes.”

“That’s not what you said last night.” Craig mumbles. They walk down the street. 

“I,  _ christ _ , I w-was just really high!”

“Good observation, Captain Obvious.”

“Asshole, I d-didn’t, didn’t m-mean,  _ ngh _ \---” Craig’s phone buzzes. Tweek stops sputtering and watches as Craig’s mouth turns into a tight lipped frown. His eyebrows furrow. “Is, i-is everything alright?” Tweek asks. 

“It’s fine.” Craig says, his spirit seeming to pipe down a little. 

“Awh, don’t, d-don’t wear your sad face.” 

“I don’t have a sad face.”

“Yes, you do, everyone does! Yours, it, i-it drives me mad, though! You’re making it right now!” Craig looks down at his shoes. 

“You’re just reading into things. I’m fine, Tweek.” 

“God fucking dammit, Craig! You drive me crazy.”

“That would be a weird thing to see,” Craig says, attempting to steer the conversation away from whatever message he just got that made him look like this. Tweek bites at his lip in an aggressive way. Tweek's a little red faced and fuming, still holding onto the stupid sweatshirt. “I mean, I wonder what ‘ _dammit_ ’ even loo---” Tweek, at this point, has interupted Craig’s rambling, thrown the sweatshirt on the ground in a fury and grabbed Craig by the face. Craig does not say anything, just looks very shocked and it’s a funny color on him. Tweek puts his forehead against Craig’s, even though he has to stand a little taller.

“Will you just,” Tweek shuts his eyes and breathes. “Just tell me you’re not okay for once? Just be honest?” It’s all a little intense for Craig, so he moves his head onto Tweek’s shoulder. Tweek opens his eyes, sighs and looks around. 

“Tweek,” Craig sighs a little shakily. “It’s fine.”

“What do you wanna do, dude?” Tweek pulls Craig back up to look at him. “We c-could,  _ ngh _ , go sledding or something...even  _ though  _ it’s getting, ngh, dark.” Craig snorts. 

“I want to get back at Clyde.” Craig opens his bag and Tweek sees the ‘impressive’ loot of fifteen toilet paper rolls. He whistles.

“Fuck, man!” 

“I know.” They’re facing Clyde’s house, which is as unassuming as a house should be. Tweek is a vengeful bastard who will gladly admit that this is not the first time he’s considered TPing this house, though it’s only the second time he will actually have gone through with it.

“Is he home?” Craig starts running towards the house. He waves his hands in the air, laughs, slightly psychotically and Tweek smiles a bit. 

“ _I don’t care!_ ” Tweek runs after him and catches the rolls that Craig throws, tossing them back. “Thank god it’s a one story.” Craig mumbles after a few minutes. Tweek nods in agreement. They go through the rolls fast and realize they’ve only covered about a quarter of the house when Clyde steps out to yell at them. Craig flips him off. “You totally deserve this, pal.” 

“Aw, come on! Tweek, what the hell, bro? Again? I thought we were friends!”

“You let me get a piercing in my tongue, man! I’m gonna  _ d-die _ if it gets infected, Clyde! Do you realize that?! And I have no lightbulbs  _ or  _ food in my house!”

“Bro, everyone knows you wanted it so drop the act, not the toilet paper! And you still have some soup left.” 

“Argh, god dammit!” Craig pulls Tweek away from Clyde’s, before he actually punches him.

“Have a productive weekend, Clyde. See you in homeroom,” Craig says sincerely and Clyde slams his door. Tweek fights out of Craig’s grasp and flips Clyde off a few more times and Clyde's watching through the window. Craig looks at Tweek with admiration. “Come on, wildcard.” He mutters and gestures for the street.

“That fucker.” Tweek growls.

“Wanna get more food? Stock up the fridge before your parents get back?”

“I,  _ ngh _ , want more toilet paper!” Tweek hisses. Craig almost laughs. “I mean, Token,” Tweek opens his mouth and Craig sees the little stud on his tongue. It reflects the streetlights, the blueing sky. It’s really eye catching and Tweek doesn’t have to point to it for Craig to notice but he does anyway. “Did  _ this _ , so shouldn’t we be mad at him?”

“I kind of like it.” Craig admits, before he realizes what he’s saying.

“Oh, god, Craig.” Tweek groans, like he’s really disappointed in him.

“No, seriously, it’s badass.” 

“I don’t feel badass; I feel stupid.”

“You can feel both ways. Badass people can be stupid. In fact, I think that’s how it works.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“No, Tweek! No! I just, I _like_ the damn thing, okay?” Craig says, flustered.

“Okay,” Tweek says slowly, like he doesn’t believe him. “You’re pretty abnormal, Craig.” Tweek settles with. Craig raises an eyebrow.

“Right back at you, bud.” Tweek smiles a little and Craig returns it. They walk down the street in silence, looking for the open lights and welcoming signs of a supermarket. It will be a fun night, Craig decides. Tweek’ll probably push Craig around in the cart and read every ingredient fifteen times over while Craig cracks open the jar of peanut butter, waiting for Tweek to notice the smell. Always waiting to grab his attention. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading everyone!! please let me know your thoughts below. i promise i will type back and i totally love hearing from you guys, even if it's a random question that doesn't have much to do with the story! whatever you want!! i also am considering prompts so if you've got any, i'll give a go! <3


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